


Not Your Lackey

by PortalCryptid



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Canon, Redemption, any ships will be background ships so they're not a big focus in the story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-12 09:33:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12956382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PortalCryptid/pseuds/PortalCryptid
Summary: Before King Dice heard what the Devil really thought of him, "Claude" was just a distant memory. But now it was time to bring him back.





	1. Good-For-Nothing Lackey

It took a lot of effort for King Dice to pick himself off the ground. His body screamed at him every time he moved a single muscle.

_ “Just lay down, moron!” _ It was almost as if this was being yelled right in his face.

But he couldn’t rest yet. He needed to watch those two cups melt into the fires of hell, to watch as they were shattered into pieces by the Devil himself. Rest could wait until his anger was sated.

So there he was, dragging himself to the door that led to the Devil’s lair in spite-fueled determination. He slipped inside in time to see the Devil’s grin looming over the little cups. With his attention on the brothers, he didn’t seem notice King watching from the shadows- what little there were in the fiery lair.

If anyone asked King to repeat what the Devil said word-for-word, he couldn’t do it. He could only remember that one phrase. He had stopped listening after it, and whatever there was before was taken over by it. It was all-consuming, and just as soul-breaking.

_ “... My good-for-nothing lackey, King Dice…” _

He left wordlessly and numbly, the phrase echoing is his head like a mantra. He didn’t notice when he sat in a chair that had the back of it broken off. When he was able to, he turned his cracked around to survey the damage.

What was left of the casino was a shambled, broken mess full of broken glass and wood. The chair that he was sitting on was one of the least broken in the whole floor. Most, if not all, of the slot machines were broken, scattered pieces of them were all over the floor. Many of the lights were blown up during the fight, leaving the whole casino a dark wasteland.

He could only look at the ground once he saw his workers emerging from the wreckage, looking as broken as the rest of the casino. Mr. Wheezy was helping Mangosteen into another slightly broken chair, the latter still coughing up an unknown black substance. King hoped it wasn’t blood. The separated Pip and Dot bickered while putting Chips back together. Pirouletta consoled an upset Phear Lap while Hopus Pocus and Mr. Chimes relocated his saddle. The tipsy trio stood together, their hushed conversation too low for him to hear. He wasn’t going to bother asking what they were up to.

“What now, Boss?” He heard Mr. Wheezy ask.

He looked up to see all his workers staring at him expectantly, particularly the cigar. If it wasn’t King who did it, he would’ve said that he looked like he was stepped on. At that moment, King almost felt bad for it.

Before he could respond, Martini stood up and said, “If it’s alright with you, sir, we’re gonna be at that bar by Honeybottoms’. Drinks on us if anyone wants to tag along.”

All he could do was give a curt nod before looking towards the ground, his mind becoming fuzzy and unfocused. He listened as all his soon-to-be former employees left the darkened husk that was once a casino. He thought he heard someone tell him that they’d buy him a drink, but everything felt so far away. For all he knew, it could have just been his mind playing tricks on him.

It felt like ages before he could get himself back up again, his battered body screaming once again. This was ignored in favor of bringing himself back into the Devil’s lair. The closer he got, the more the phrase came back to make his head pound more than before.

_ “...Good-for-nothing lackey…” _

He paused at the door, noting that it was ajar. He must’ve forgotten to close it in his dazed state. Not that it mattered; the Devil would’ve been too busy licking his wounds to care about the door.

The moment he opened it, the hot air hit him. It was always warm in Inkwell Hell, but the fire in the Devil’s office always made wearing a suit much more difficult than it needed to be.

He continued through the door, not stopping until he reached the throne of the big man himself.

The widely-feared creature was now the most pitiful thing he had seen in a long time. His long, furry body was battered and bruised, one of his horns broken and an arm in a sling. It was easy to see that he had been crying recently. King could no longer bring himself to be sympathetic.

“Dice,” the Devil’s hoarse voice called out upon seeing his lackey.

Correction, his  _ good-for-nothing _ lackey.

Hearing no response, the Devil continued, “They- they burned the soul contracts, Dice! We-”

“Oh, shut up, you pathetic excuse of a devil,” King cut him off with an icy tone.

The room was still, sans the Devil, whose eyes widened in shock. Nobody talked back to the Devil. Especially not his trusted servant. Not until now.

The beast glared at King Dice. “What did you say, you-”

King’s anger clouded any fear he might’ve had towards the demon. “‘Good-for-nothing lackey?’ Is that what you’re about to say,  _ Boss _ ?” 

The Devil shot straight up in indignation, screaming at the die,  _ “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll hold your tongue!” _

No matter, King only needed to say one thing before making his way out of Hell: “I quit.”

_ “Get back here! You’re nothing without me!”  _ The furious holler did nothing to stop King from leaving.

But before he walked out the door, he yelled over his shoulder,  _ “Rot in hell!” _

He ignored the roars behind him and the flames that rose higher as he left. His heart was beating like he had run a mile, but he felt calm. His limbs still ached, but the feeling of freedom made the pain feel like nothing.

He only stopped once he crossed the railroad that separated Inkwell Hell from the rest of the isle. He looked back to the sign above the entrance to Hell, the red stairs leading up to it. It no longer tempted him to go back; it only told him to turn away and never come back. So he turned around and crossed the bridge next to Sally Stageplay’s theatre, then walked down the street and to the road. It wasn't long before his feet led him to the bar by Rumor Honeybottoms’ business.

The welcome he received when he entered was nothing but warm, Mangosteen offering a seat beside him, which was happily accepted. While you could tell that he had seen better days, the larger man was still full of mirth, just like his co-workers.

A glass was suddenly placed in front of him. Almost jolting, King looked to the other side of him to see Mr. Wheezy sitting on his other side.

“Here’s your drink, King,” he grinned. “Just as promised.”

Thankful that he wasn’t losing it, he picked up the glass and smiled back at the cigar. “Thanks, Wheezy. But I’m not King Dice anymore. Call me Claude.”

The sound of his old name felt odd on his tongue after years of it being unused. Nonetheless, it was accepted, and they made a toast to him.

Tomorrow he would feel like hell, but tonight he would celebrate a free life with good company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaa I'm not sure if I wanna continue this as a thing, but in case I do, I'm gonna leave it as incomplete!  
> I hope yall enjoyed this, and let me know if you want to see more!


	2. The Road so Far

 After picking up a normal job, it had taken Claude a year to get the residents of Inkwell Isle to not completely mistrust him.

His employer, a mafia boss, didn’t even trust him, but Wheezy was kind enough to convince her to hire him in a restaurant she ran. Unfortunately he couldn’t stop her from giving the die the oh-so-wonderful job of busboy. The customers were often rude and impatient, the place smelled like cheap booze, and sometimes he had to help clean up messes in the back from the boss’ “interrogations.” But he chose not to complain too much aside when he’s drinking with Wheezy. He knew that he deserved worse than what he was given.  
The first time he visited Elder Kettle and the two cup boys was hectic. The young cups tried to shoo him away with their powers, but the old kettle stopped them before they could do any damage. Claude thought it was due to pity towards a broken man, but he was grateful when the elder stopped the pair and invited the die in for tea.

The tense aura from the cups was suffocating, but Elder Kettle’s gentle tone as he talked dissipated it enough that Claude didn’t want to run away.

Mugman warmed up to him first, with a tentative offer to go see the pictures with him. Cuphead insisting on going along. He claimed that it was because he wanted to see that film, but Claude knew better. He was like a guard dog to the mug when the die was around. He wasn’t sure when Cuphead came around, but when out of the blue he became less hostile, it was noticeable. It was never commented on, but he knew that Mugman had something to do with it.

He knew for sure that they were beginning to trust him when he came to their little house one day and told them about the hotel he planned to buy. It was a broken down old building, looking like a graveyard inside and out. But he saw promise in every broken light fixture and shredded, dusty piece of furniture as he entered the old place. Completely legal, by the way. He was not breaking and entering.

His memories of the place in its former glory were fuzzy and aged with time, but he knew that he could make it into the jewel he remembered it as… And better.

To his surprise, all three gave him nothing but encouragement. Mugman was much more ecstatic, while Cuphead was quietly happy. Elder Kettle was calm as he gave advice Claude had long since forgotten. He was sure it was important, but he was too excited and focused on leaving to pitch his idea to Wheezy. The cigar was critical at first, but he caved in to Claude’s overwhelming determination and helped him put everything together.

The first parts of making this dream come true were easy. The classes Claude had to take to get his permit were easy, and Wheezy insisted on pitching in some money in spite of Claude’s resistance. But the old place was cheap due to its disrepair, so he didn't think he needed the help... But the sorry state of the building also made making the old place functional and elegant again much more difficult.

After buying the place, they didn’t have enough money to renovate the place, and the owner of the construction company wasn’t big on charity... But he _was_ kind enough to cut Claude a deal. It involved hard labor and paying him back later, but he was up for the task.

Once he took up a job in the construction company, it took four months to turn the old, decrepit building he bought into a hotel. The work was difficult, each day was long and he came home every day with aching muscles and the occasional injury he acquired. But he knew that the struggles were well worth what his future held in store for him, so he held on until it was done.

And when it _was_ … It took his breath away.

It wasn’t quite at where he wanted it to be, but perfection takes time, and he was a patient man. Besides, it was great for a beginning business, especially since the boss had even gone as far as furnishing the place. Claude wasn’t sure if it was out of the goodness of his heart or for shits and giggles , but he was thankful nonetheless. The only thing he needed was employees, but that was quickly resolved after a few calls to old friends.

With everything in order, the King’s Hotel was finally in business!

… But not really.

True, his hotel was in fine condition, but with the old stigma that surrounded him, none of the residents of Inkwell wanted anything to do with his hotel. He heard the rumors that spread about his new place. “Devil’s Hotel,” they called it. Like he’d be caught dead with that bastard anymore. It made him angry every time he heard it, but Wheezy was always quick to distract him with booze. They made him feel better, but he was still bitter over it.

The only people who came were tourists who hadn’t heard about his past sins, and even those were far and few between. Inkwell Isle was’t usually a place you visited for the hell of it.

Apparently luck was on Claude’s side, because his break from misery came in the form of Hilda Berg, who stormed in demanding to know where he was. He could only amuse himself watching her torment Wheezy for so long before he had to step in and ask what she wanted.

With a glare sharp enough to kill a man, she began a rant that boiled down to this: most of Inkwell thought the new business was a way to claim more souls for the Devil. with a few claiming that Claude really was a changed man, the statement became a question. Then it turned into full-blown argument between everyone. Hilda was there to settle the argument. But she was not an unbiased character. In fact, it seemed that she was a staunch believer of the myth that he was still under the Devil’s thumb.

Determined to lay the very thought to rest once and for all, he offered her a tour of the entire hotel. Every nook and cranny was hers to explore as long as they don’t disturb a guest.

“If you so much as find a hair from that furball,” he declared, “then I give you full permission to take to the streets. Tell everyone how dangerous my hotel is, and how we still make contracts and steal the souls of the public. Curse my business, my very name, and everything I stand for. If you find no trace of that demon, then be sure to tell everyone this: the Devil can rot in his throne for all I care, he’s never going to be allowed in my establishment. Ever.”

Hilda was quiet after his declaration, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Maybe he had given it too much fire? Nonetheless, her own fire returned to her and she agreed to the tour.

At first, she insisted on walking where she pleased, but she begrudgingly allowed him to lead after realizing that she had no idea where she was going. Not that he minded; he loved showing off his pride and joy. She didn’t seem too keen on the property's history, but she still allowed him to keep talking as she eyed everything in her line of sight.

She insisted on checking every room... Well, almost every room.  There was no way in hell he was letting her look in occupied rooms. She complained at first, but then let him lead her to different rooms.

He even allowed her to look into restricted areas, such as the boiler room or the kitchen. They received odd looks from his employees whenever they walked into these places, but he waved them off and allowed Hilda to search as she pleased.

The search took ages, but finally they both ended up in the lobby, collapsed on chairs and exhausted from all the running around for so long. They had searched every inch of his hotel, and as promised, there was no sign of the Devil or any suspicious activities. Well, besides walking into the break room and finding Pip and Dot working on some elaborate scheme to torment Wheezy. But Claude put a stop to that and had the pair go back to work.

“... And you’re sure that he’s not in any of those occupied rooms?” She asked after a good few minutes of tired silence.

He let out a small laugh. “If he was, you’d smell the cigar smoke from the basement. Do you remember the smell of those things?”

She snorted. “Who could forget? I thought Mr. Wheezy was smoking five at once!”

Quiet laughter, then silence filled the air once more until he asked, “... Did I pass your test?”

She sat up and turned to look at him. “Not until I stay the night. On the house?”

“Only our best suite.”

“... Wait, seriously?”

When he (hesitantly) agreed, she gave a grin and stood up, pulling him up and insisting he show her to her room. He complied, only stopping to go behind the desk and grab her room key. After dropping her off and bading her a good night, he went to his office to catch up on his work. He had never fallen asleep at his desk faster.

The next few days went as normal, but after a week more customers came than they ever had. A chat with his cup friends found that Hilda had put in a good word to the public, who in turn told their relatives and friends from outside Inkwell. His hotel’s popularity rose far quicker than he had ever seen it, and before he knew it he was adding more rooms, and then a restaurant with a bar and a stage.

Granted, it meant he had more paperwork on his desk, but it was completely worth it. It seemed like nothing could ruin this new time in his life for him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaa a lot of you wanted me to continue, so here we go! thanks for all the encouragement, I really appreciate it!! the chapters might take a while to get out since I have other stuff to work on, but this is totally gonna be a thing!  
> sorry this chapter didn't have much for dialogue, it's supposed to be a kind of spark notes version of his time between when he leaves the Devil and when the rest of the story takes place! I mean, I _could_ go more in-depth, but that'd take up a lot of the story. I hope you liked it anyway!
> 
> also, I have a playlist for this fic you can find here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkqCG8QE1XEV4dWQzZqttG45wZ1g870or


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